


bad religion

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deadlock Jesse McCree, Death, Drug Use, M/M, Tags to be added, implied past r76, mentions of - Freeform, mentions of r76
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Things are different, now. After the execution of the gang’s previous leader--a routine promotion, Deadlock-style--Jesse finds himself climbing the outlaw ladder, moving up from a simple drug mule to one of Deadlock’s most reliable guns. Where he was once too scared to turn his back on his fellow Rebels, now he holds his own in the weekly brawls; giving more than he gets when the punches fly and still standing afterward to run his mouth to the newbies that get lippy. It’s not what he imagined for himself, back when he was young and still dreaming--but it’s better than living on the streets, better than bouncing around the foster homes. It’s as good a life as some degenerate like him could ever hope for.Or so he thinks, until the day it all changes: the day he meets Gabriel Reyes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BellChimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellChimes/gifts).



> a commission for lovely safarizoness on tumblr! <3

Jesse McCree remembers Santa Fe as a quiet city, when he was young.

Not that he saw much of it, really--bouncing between the foster homes since he was six years old didn’t leave him with a lot of time for sightseeing, and most of the families he was stuck with were much more focused on ensuring the next high than taking their kid out to see the town. It wasn’t until he was fourteen and tired of his foster father’s greedy, grabbing hands that he found himself actually able to see more than just the filth of the world he was in; he discovered that there was a little park in the middle of town, and a secluded place high up on the buttes that he could go to watch the setting sun paint the city in broad swathes of crimson and gold.

And it was there, in his sanctuary high atop the rest of the world, that he saw his first murder.

It was some woman he’d never seen before--marched into the middle of nowhere by three men, and even from his perch Jesse could see the gleam of metal in their hands, the sleek shapes of their guns. They pushed her onto her knees, and Jesse could hear her crying, could just barely catch the snippets of rapid-fire Spanish pleas; and he thought about leaving, thought about trying to help--but then the bullet had blown the woman’s forehead four feet away and Jesse screamed when he saw it, horrified by the spray of gore, the utter lifelessness in the body that slumped down to the desert sand.

His innocence had been his own undoing. Fifteen minutes later, and Jesse McCree found himself on his knees in a wooden building covered with sprays of skulls wrapped in chain, and staring down the barrel of a revolver.

He thought back to the woman and the wobble in her voice, and wondered if she was as terrified as he felt now.

The only difference worth noting was their potential--a woman with a whole family to go back to posed much more of a security risk than some orphan stranded all alone on the streets. Even at fourteen Jesse could tell when he was being used; but what was the alternative? It was either a gun in his hand at Deadlock’s command or a bullet blasted through his brain, and Jesse liked to think he’d gotten as far as he had by making the right choices in the interest of self-preservation.

Three years later and he finds himself wondering if he’s still made the right decision. 

Things are different, now. After the execution of the gang’s previous leader--a routine promotion, Deadlock-style--Jesse finds himself climbing the outlaw ladder, moving up from a simple drug mule to one of Deadlock’s most reliable guns. Where he was once too scared to turn his back on his fellow Rebels, now he holds his own in the weekly brawls; giving more than he gets when the punches fly and still standing afterward to run his mouth to the newbies that get lippy. It’s not what he imagined for himself, back when he was young and still dreaming--but it’s better than living on the streets, better than bouncing around the foster homes. It’s as good a life as some degenerate like him could ever hope for.

Or so he thinks, until the day it all changes: the day he meets Gabriel Reyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Blackwatch is the family Jesse never thought he would have--and Gabriel, the role model he’s always craved.

But it’s a far cry from the lifestyle he imagined he would lead.

They’ve been in Argentina for two weeks gathering intel on a drug smuggling ring. It’s Jesse’s second mission in his seven months with Blackwatch, and he’s counting down the hours until sunset, until the transport can come extract them. 

The camp they’ve set up is paltry, barely more than a few tents clustered among the trees, and reeks of the sweat from the five bodies inhabiting it. Three now lie in zipped-up plastic bags, martyrs for the intelligence required to shut the ring down and cripple the import of cocaine into the Southwestern US.

Jesse hates that, through the blur of the firefight, he can’t even remember exactly how they died.

He moves slow as he starts to break down the camp, working on autopilot. He pulls up the tent stakes and thinks of his fallen agents--of the scar on Rameira’s lip that made him look like he was always grinning, the way Yuutan would sing when she thought she was alone. Traes always carried a picture of their fiance in their breast pocket, tucked up safe under the armor.

And now they’re all gone; nothing more than corpses in bags.

“Look alive, Jessito.” 

Jesse startles at the voice, dropping the stakes he’d piled up in his arms as he turns around. Gabriel is walking toward him, a somber look on his face; there’s extra metal around his neck, gleaming in the filtered sunlight against the matte black of his armor.

The fallen agents’ dogtags.

Jesse straightens as Gabriel comes nearer--lifts his chin, tries to mask his expression, like Gabriel always seems to be able to do. “Sir?”

“Transport touches down in five.” Gabriel heads past Jesse, to the last standing tent: the one currently pitched over the three corpses. If he’s bothered by leaning over the dead bodies, by putting his face a foot away from where his former agents are zipped up and decaying, he doesn’t show it; and Jesse envies him for that. “Let’s get this shit cleaned up, and get out of here.”

“...Yes, sir.”

They work in silence to tear down the camp, packing up gear and stocking inventory, assessing the damage done to their armor and weapons. Jesse’s just finished hiding their footprints through the mud with branches and leaves when he hears Gabriel’s sharp whistle.

Between the corpses and the supplies, it takes three trips to get everything loaded. Jesse’s bangs are plastered to his forehead with sweat by the time he can sink down into one of the carrier’s seats; he pulls his hat off and drops his head between his shoulders, runs his hands through his hair to unstick it from his scalp.

When he looks up again, Gabriel is by his side, quiet as a ghost. He sits in the seat to Jesse’s left, and for a moment there’s nothing between them but silence--Jesse hardly dares to breathe.

“Does it bother you?”

Gabriel’s voice is softer than it usually is; there’s a tiredness in the lines of his face that Jesse doesn’t recall ever seeing before. 

“The deaths. The killing. You’re young...does it bother you?”

Jesse looks away, back down to the floor as he mulls it over. There’s mud on his boots--bits of blood and gore and brain clinging to the leather, gumming up the space of his spurs. He doesn’t know if it’s from friend or foe.

“...Deadlock was pretty fond of killing,” he eventually answers, cagey and guarded; what kind of question is this? Is Gabriel suddenly doubting his fortitude, or just seeing if he’s honest? “I ain’t ever particularly liked it...but if it’s what needs to be done…”

He shrugs one shoulder and trails off, hoping the vague answer will be enough.

Because if he’s being honest with himself, he was a lot more comfortable with killing back before he knew the ones that died--back before they had scars and sung when they were alone and carried pictures of their fiances under their armor.

The solid warmth of Gabriel’s broad arm comes to settle over his shoulders, and Jesse startles; when he looks up and meets Gabriel’s gaze, there’s something in it he cannot name. Something sad, almost regretful, and the arm draped over him suddenly feels heavy.

“That’s good. Real good, Jessito.” He pulls Jesse in a little, squeezes him against his side; and the armor is uncomfortable to lay against, his body heat is stifling, he can smell the sour musk of Gabriel’s sweat.

He never wants to leave.

But two thundering heartbeats pass and Gabriel releases him. Jesse mourns it, tries to puzzle out why as he watches Gabriel fish a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shake one out.

“When it stops bothering you…” He trails off to light his cigarette, closes his eyes on the draw to bring the tip flaring to life. Smoke billows out between his lips as he says, “When it stops bothering you, when you stop caring...that’s when you need to quit. Do something else.” He glances over with something urgent in his eyes, in the tone of his voice. “You understand?”

Jesse considers him--pulls his gaze from the glowing end of Gabriel’s cigarette to the wisps of smoke pooled between his white teeth, up the scarred cheeks to his dark eyes, the faint wrinkles etched around them.

He tries to imagine doing something else--anything else--living a peaceful life, working a job from nine to five, having a little office cubicle and a white picket fence and a dog, a kid, a sedan. 

Someone to come home to at night.

From where he sits right now--on a transport plane with three corpses and a kilo of cocaine, specked in mud and dirt and blood and gore--it just doesn’t seem possible.

Not for someone like him.

But Jesse shrugs anyway, slumps back against the wall with a sigh. “Yeah, boss. I understand.” He doesn’t want to tell Gabriel no, and risk facing the disappointment he knows he’ll find.

Gabriel’s movement draws his eye, and when Jesse looks over there’s something akin to amusement on Gabriel’s face, a sad kind of humor that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes another long drag off his cigarette, then shakes his head, smoke drifting in lazy curls from his nose.

“No, Jesse. You don’t.” He reaches out to ruffle Jesse’s hair roughly, and snickers when he hisses, tries to half-heartedly pull away. “You don’t...but you might, someday. Might not.”

Gabriel smiles at him then, something soft and precious, like a secret shared between just the two of them; and Jesse lets himself get lost in the warm hazel of those bright eyes, and feels like he’s come home.

It’s only when they’re flying over the shimmering waters of the Pacific that he realizes he’s in love.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes their trials come closer to home.

The halls of Gibraltar are wide, spacious things, with windows as tall as Jesse is; it’s a pretty place, a far cry fancier than the deserts and shadowy bases that he’s used to. His boots echo noisily on the marble floor as he follows Gabriel’s rapid clip further indoors, toward the command center of the building. 

“Why are we here again, boss?” Jesse asks lowly, eyes lingering on one of the staff members that passes by--she’s dressed in a smart navy business suit with black pumps that are silent on the floor, and her gaze trails over Jesse slowly as she walks by, her eyes sharp and catlike.

Jesse is suddenly keenly aware of his own dirty boots and wrinkled fatigues. He pulls his hat down a little further over his eyes and scowls.

Ahead, Gabriel has stopped at one door--by the time Jesse catches up to him, he can make out the plaque on it that reads ‘Strike-Commander Morrison’. He knocks briskly, then glances over his shoulder at Jesse.

“You stay here.”

Jesse frowns suddenly. “Boss--”

“I _said_ ,” Gabriel snaps, all steel and iron, “you stay here. Understand?”

Jesse holds his gaze for a heartbeat, then glares down at the floor, cowed. “...yes, sir.”

When he hears the door open, hears the Strike-Commander’s surprised little, “Gabe?”, Jesse grinds his teeth. He glances up with just enough time to see the whip of a blue duster disappearing inside the closing door, and turns to drop his back against the wall with a scowl.

“Strike-Commander Morrison,” Jesse grumbles, kicking his boot against the floor--he hopes that it’ll scuff, leave a mark right outside Morrison’s door for him to wonder about later.

Because why should he care? Morrison already has everything--he has the fancy title, all the respect, the cushy job, the most beautiful man in the world--

Jesse stops himself harshly, blinking out of the reverie. He tells himself that’s not a path he can go down; tells himself that there’s a million and one reasons why chasing Gabriel would only end in heartbreak, at best. Gabriel is older, Gabriel is his commanding officer, Gabriel is so far out of his league that it’s laughable.

And yet.

Jesse sighs, dropping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes--and even as he tries to make himself think of anything else, he can’t keep the image of short-cropped dark hair and bronzed skin out of his mind, can’t keep from hearing that low, dark voice in his head…

Until Jesse blinks, focuses, and instead hears the voice coming from inside the room, muffled but distinctly Gabriel’s.

_“I can’t keep doing this, Jackie...the distance, the stress, keeping everything quiet, it’s killing me--”_

_“And what do you want me to do, Gabe? My hands are tied, same as yours. I can’t just make the red tape disappear.”_

_“You could try. You’re the Strike-Commander, what are they going to do, fire you? You--”_

_“I can’t, we’ve been through this--”_

_“Yes, we have, and yet here we are, a-fucking-gain.”_

_“Gabe...look. I don’t have time for this. If you just came here to bitch at me--”_

_“I came here to talk to you, because I--!”_

_“--then you can go right back to the States. I’m too busy for this shit.”_

There’s silence after that--the tense kind, the kind that makes the hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stand up. He shrugs off the wall just as the door opens, and tries to look innocent as Gabriel comes storming back into the hallway.

“...boss?” 

The response is immediate and menacing. “ _Move_.”

Jesse swallows down his ‘Yes, sir’ and hurriedly follows after his Commander, cowed into silence as he tries to match Gabriel’s powerful stride. The rest of the tasks they complete are menial--almost like afterthoughts, absolutely nothing that couldn’t have been accomplished from their base or were in any way pressing--and it’s only when they’re getting back onto the transport home that Jesse starts to get the sneaking suspicion that Gabriel had come to Switzerland with only one thing in mind.

And that thing had essentially shut him down and told him to leave.

It’s enough to have Jesse steaming, getting mad on Gabriel’s behalf--how dare Morrison treat him that way? If _he_ had the privilege of having a piece of Gabriel’s heart, Jesse thinks vehemently, he’d never treat him so poorly. He’d lasso the moon and corral the stars just to make Gabriel happy, move the heavens above and the earth below to see him smile.

And instead, he has to stand by and see the scowl on Gabriel’s face as he sinks into a seat, watch him stab at a holopad like it’s personally wronged him. Jesse sighs to himself and cautiously sits down beside Gabriel, working his lip between his teeth as he tries to debate on what to say.

 _‘Are you okay?’_ No, it’s too personal--Gabriel would never answer truthfully. Jesse’s seen him dig a bullet out of his shoulder while telling the medic to pass him over.

 _‘You deserve more.’_ No, god no--it’d give away that Jesse was eavesdropping, and that’s a road he doesn’t want to go down, for his own wellbeing.

 _‘Morrison is a dick.’_ Could be relatively safe, considering it’s far from an unpopular opinion--but Gabriel has a quick temper when defending those he loves. Jesse might accidentally incite his anger, instead of soothe it. But--

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Gabriel says, slamming his head back against the wall of the transport and dragging a hand down his face. “Would you just spit it out? I can hear you thinking all the way over here, and I don’t like it.”

Jesse startles, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise. “...sorry, boss. I just thought--”

“For fuck’s sake, what is it?”

And before he can think about it, before he can stop himself, Jesse looks right into Gabriel’s bloodshot eyes and blurts out, “I could treat you better.”

Gabriel stares at him--Jesse stares back--there’s a long, painful stretch of silence between them, until there’s not. 

Jesse registers the loud _crack_ of the slap before he feels the pain; but when it hits, it does so with a vengeance. He grabs at his cheek with a wounded noise, and tries to blink his vision clear as he looks down at the blurry outlines of his boots.

“Don’t you _ever_ say anything like that to me again.” Gabriel’s voice shakes, but Jesse is far too wrapped up in his own pain to even begin to wonder about why. “When we get back to base, you’re on KP duty for a month, _agent McCree_.”

Jesse tries to reply--he really does. But the words stay choked up in his throat, and he turns away from Gabriel, drawing one knee up in an attempt to curl into himself.

It’s only when they’re flying over the dark waters of the Atlantic that he realizes he’s crying.


	4. Chapter 4

KP duty comes and goes. Jesse stays grounded to base for the next two missions.

He avoids Gabriel as much as he can, given their circumstances--eats his meals quietly in the mess hall and tries to forget the pain of Gabriel’s slap, replays the exchange in his head until he’s come up with a million and one better things to say--and spends the majority of his days catching up on the piles of paperwork he’s left to gather dust.

The knock at his door nearly has him jumping out of his skin.

Jesse scrambles up from his bunk and goes to the door, a curious sort of unease coiling in his belly; and when he slides the door open and sees his Commander standing there, arms crossed and scowl in place, it snaps into something more akin to terror.

“Commander,” Jesse says quickly, snapping a hand up to his brow. Gabriel waves a hand dismissively. 

“McCree.” He glances up and down the hall, then shoulders his way into the room, his head tucked down low. Jesse nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get out of the way.

“Sir…” At a loss for what to do and completely taken aback by the sudden visit, Jesse lingers by the door; after a long, agonizing stretch of silence between them, he swallows the lump in his throat and tries again. “Sir, I wasn’t expecting you. Is something wrong?”

Gabriel glances over his shoulder, eyeing Jesse up through the corner of his eye. “Close the door.”

Jesse nods, hurries to obey. He turns to pull the door closed again, and by the time he turns back around Gabriel is looming over him, close enough for Jesse to see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes.

Jesse goes ramrod stiff against the door, his eyes flying wide; and Gabriel tilts his head a little, leaning in so their breath can mingle.

“I haven’t forgotten what you said to me.”

“Sir--?”

Gabriel’s hand slaps over Jesse’s mouth, cutting him off.

“Don’t talk. Just listen,” he whispers, his voice little more than a hiss--wobbling slightly, as he fixes Jesse with a piercing look. “I haven’t forgotten what you said...it’s all I’ve been thinking about. It’s been on my mind since we got back home.”

Jesse swallows behind the grip of Gabriel’s palm, disbelief and fear warring in equal parts inside him--and drowning out the majority of the eager nervousness that makes sweat break out along his temples. He nods dumbly, barely daring to breathe just in case he misses anything Gabriel is saying.

“You said you could treat me better...and you said it like you meant it.” Gabriel pauses, swallows. “Did you mean that, McCree?”

Jesse nods so quickly, so enthusiastically, that his vision blurs.

He speaks, and his words come out muffled, unable to be understood; so Gabriel pulls his hand away, one brow raised. 

“I mean it,” Jesse repeats, voice urgent and earnest, reaching out for Gabriel with one hand--when his fingertips brush Gabriel’s jaw, trail soft through the scruff of his beard, he can feel his Commander’s racing heart. “I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything before. I’d have to be crazier than a shithouse rat to not want you, and Morrison--”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Gabriel cuts in, sharp, like it’s pulled out from somewhere close to his heart; and he opens his mouth again, hesitates, and Jesse closes the slight gap between them to swallow the doubt in a slow, deep kiss.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before--burns him from lips to belly like a shot of the strongest whiskey, flooding his senses like a good drag off a smoke after a long day--has him grabbing for Gabriel’s hoodie, fisting his hands in the fabric and moaning, long and low, into his mouth. Gabriel surges into the kiss like he’s dying for it, his hands coming up to cradle Jesse’s face in calloused palms; and they fit together like a dream, Jesse with his back up against the door and Gabriel’s chest pressed snugly to his, close enough for their heartbeats to echo. 

It’s beyond perfect, makes time grind to a halt--has everything that isn’t Gabriel’s soft lips, Gabriel’s warm tongue, Gabriel’s thundering heart, fading away to nothing. Jesse lets his eyes close and sinks into it, wrapping his arms around Gabriel’s neck and clinging to him like if he dares to let go then Gabriel, too, will disappear.

Gabriel pulls away enough to gasp for air, and lets out a quiet sigh of, “Jesse…” on his exhale. His thumb strokes over Jesse’s cheek--a tender touch, something far more gentle than his calloused hands seem capable of--and Jesse finds himself leaning into the contact, drinking it in like the dry, cracked ground of Santa Fe during a rainstorm.

“Gabriel,” he whispers, letting his eyes open, craving the sight of Gabriel’s face and the warmth in his smile--

And instead, he finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, the sheets of his bunk soaked through with his sweat.

Jesse jerks upright, immediately looks toward the door; and it’s closed, a pale beam of moonlight shining down upon it from the window. A quick glance around proves his fears--the room is dark and empty, stiflingly quiet in the dead of night.

Gabriel is not there, and he is alone.

Jesse sighs, runs a hand through his sweaty hair; his heart is racing, body still keyed up from his too-real dream. Heat throbs between his legs, aching and demanding attention that he’s too tired to give.

He drops his head into the safe cradle of his hands, and tells himself he will come up with a way to escape.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time he tries is on a mission in Arizona.

It’s a three-day trip, and Jesse packs his bags heavier than normal, stuffing them with everything he thinks he might need while living on the run--from the stash of emergency rations he’d pilfered from the supply closet to extra boxes of ammunition for Peacekeeper--and if anyone notices the extra strain in his arms as he carries his bags onto the transport they don’t mention it.

Not that Jesse would expect them to.

He’s sure that the news of his outburst has spread; the only thing that surprises him is that he hasn’t been confronted about it yet. When he climbs up onto the transport with the rest of the team, he’s keenly aware of how no one looks at him--the usual chatter is quieter, without his big mouth to help it along.

The dynamic is different, now. Jesse sits in the corner of the carrier, as far away from the other agents as he can get.

He spends the entire flight in silence--trying to think of anything other than Gabriel sitting just a few feet away--and runs through his tentative plan for escape. Once they hit the ground and set up camp, he thinks he can sneak away during the night; they’re not too far away from his stomping grounds, after all. Growing up a Rebel required him to intimately know the lay of the land, and with a little bit of luck after a few hours of running east he’ll come across something he recognizes.

Hopefully.

If not, then he’ll just keep running.

He knows that he’s going to miss a lot of the things he’s grown used to, in Blackwatch life--having a bed, a steady schedule of meals, people he could almost consider friends--but he should have known from the beginning that this life wouldn’t work for him. It was too nice, too generous, for someone like him; and just like always, running his mouth had ruined all of it. 

Jesse tries to tell himself that he won’t miss Gabriel--won’t miss his barking laugh or the way the wrinkles around his eyes soften when he oh so rarely smiles--and it all sounds hollow, even to him. By the time the transport touches down in a lonely part of little Moenkopi he’s somehow more miserable than before.

He tries to hide it, as he goes about setting up camp; going through the motions on auto-pilot, his mind five hundred miles away. He thinks about returning to Santa Fe, and immediately dismisses the idea--there’s nothing waiting for him there, except jaded enemies and painful memories of broken households. While New Mexico might be the best place for him to start over again, it’s not somewhere he can stay.

If nothing else, because it’s where Gabriel might expect him to be.

Jesse is pulled from his melancholy thoughts by the distant noise of shooting. He looks up from where he sits with the pieces of Peacekeeper in his lap and frowns, immediately on high alert; his hands move in quick, habitual patterns to put the gun back together, and it’s drawn by the time he’s on his feet.

“What’s going on?” Elric asks, slinking over to stand by Jesse’s side with his SMG drawn and his long hair messy, out of its usual ponytail--a clear sign that he’d been caught just as off-guard as Jesse. “The raid doesn’t start until tomorrow...they can’t know we’re here already.” He pauses, then adds, “Can they?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse mutters, and it’s when he looks over to meet Elric’s gaze that the shot is fired--and Elric’s head explodes in front of him, spattering his face with warm crimson and leaving nothing but a bloody, spurting stump behind. By the time Elric’s body has fallen to the sand Jesse is on his belly, crawling back toward the safety of his tent and fumbling for his radio.

“Boss--Gabe,” he chokes, gagging on the taste of warm copper in his mouth, the salt of Elric’s lifeblood on his lips; his hands are white-knuckled where they clench the radio. “Gabe, Gabe, Gabe--”

_“McCree? What’s going on?”_

“I don’t know, I don’t know, Elric--Elric got shot, I’m in my tent, I don’t know what’s happening--”

 _“I think our cover got blown.”_ How Gabriel can sound so calm about it, Jesse doesn’t know. _“Stay put and shoot anything that isn’t ours.”_

“Yes, sir.”

It’s easy advice--has Jesse huddled in the middle of the tent with Peacekeeper aimed at the closed flap, ready and waiting, similar enough to his days in Deadlock of panic-shoot-shoot-run to have his body falling right back into the ruts it knows. He steadies himself on his knees and tries to slow his breathing, licks his lips and focuses his gaze on the tent flap, feeling his heart thundering in his ears.

Breathe in, breathe out. A smattering of quick shots ring out in the distance, and Jesse wonders which members of the team have fallen this time.

He thinks briefly of Gabriel, stretched out lifeless along the dry ground with half his face gone in a wash of crimson, and has to swallow hard to keep the rush of nausea at bay.

Jesse stiffens when he hears noise outside his tent--the soft, cracking sound of desert soil rolling under boot tread--and draws himself up again, his breath stilling in his lungs. His free hand hovers over the radio, debating; he could call Gabriel, see where he’s at. But if he did that, he’d distract himself from the situation at hand, and certainly give away his location to whoever is outside the tent; and that’s something that Jesse didn’t need Blackwatch training to teach him is a bad idea.

But then the flap is opened, and the choice is made for him--Peacekeeper snaps up, held two inches from the lips that Jesse’s dreamed of kissing night after night.

“Easy, Jessito,” Gabriel murmurs, slowly closing his palm around Jesse’s hand and lowering the gun back toward the ground, his wide eyes softening a little. “It’s alright. Come on out, nice and slow.”

A tense heartbeat passes between them, and Jesse draws in a slow, dragging breath; he nods, jerking and tense, and lets Peacekeeper lower to the ground as he awkwardly climbs out of the tent.

“What happened?” Jesse asks, his voice hoarse--his boot crushes something wet and soft into the dry ground and he bites down on his yelp, staggering away from Elric’s corpse and leaving a track of brain matter in his wake. “Fuck…”

“It’s alright.” Gabriel’s arm lays heavy over Jesse’s shoulders, steering him away from the corpse and back toward the center of camp. He walks with a slight limp, and it’s only when Jesse looks down that he sees the wide blossom of crimson across Gabriel’s thigh, streaking down his tan pants all the way to his ankle.

“Gabe! What--”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” Gabriel tightens his grip on Jesse’s shoulder, squeezing him closer; and now that Jesse focuses on it, he can feel the extra burden of Gabriel’s weight, leaning against him with every other step. “Our cover’s blown. Transport is on the way. The hostiles are dead.”

Jesse swallows thickly. “And the others--?”

“Gone.”

Jesse stares down at the ground blankly, trying not to think about it; trying to keep his mind off the members of his team he’ll never see again, off the bit of Elric’s memories currently stuck to the bottom of his boot, off Gabriel’s blood currently soaking into his own pants.

They stay huddled together on the edge of the camp while they wait for the transport, clinging to each other in the small-town quiet that suddenly seems much too loud. Jesse puts his hand over Gabriel’s thigh in an attempt to stop the bleeding--because he thinks he should, because it feels right--and Gabriel’s sigh answers him, makes him feel giddy at the hint of emotion before his sense can come back and make him feel guilty.

They load in silence--Jesse brings the squad equipment, and Gabriel brings the corpses. The ride is quiet and Jesse hates it, even as he buries his face against Gabriel’s shoulder, as he savours the feeling of Gabriel’s hand petting through his hair.

Gabriel’s voice is soft in his ear, barely more than a whisper as he asks, “Are you alright, Jesse?”

And he nods, even as he knows it’s a lie; fists his hands in Gabriel’s shirt and tries to cling to every last detail of this moment, and hates himself for focusing more on the mixed scent of Gabriel’s sweat and cologne than the corpses currently cooling on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Time passes. New agents join the ranks of Blackwatch, in multi-colored blurs of skin and shiny metal and fearlessness, and still more leave--most often, on a one-way flight back to their home country in a black bag.

In a week Jesse will have been with Blackwatch for two years, and by now he’s learned not to become attached to any of the new faces.

But when faced with death and danger on a daily basis, his forged bonds only become stronger.

“How do you do it?”

Jesse’s voice is quiet, breaking the silence of the early morning in foggy puffs of breath. He glances over to where Gabriel stands, both of them leaning against the railing, staring out at the canyon beyond and endlessly below; and Gabriel closes his eyes as he takes a long drag off his cigarette, lets the smoke lazily billow out through his nose.

“Do what?”

“All of this.” Jesse gestures back toward the base--toward the new bodies inside, the dwindling numbers of the old ones, the uncertainty in it all. “Just...keep going, day in and day out, like nothing’s wrong. Like all of this is normal.” He glances over, trying to catch Gabriel’s eye. “Does it not bother you?”

Gabriel is quiet for a moment, sucking the last of his cigarette down to the filter before he flicks it over the railing and into the canyon beyond. “Of course it bothers me,” he says, smoke slipping out between his teeth; he turns away, and Jesse can’t help but follow, trying to cling to his every word. “But I have a release. I have something I can turn to, when it’s all too much and I need to get out of my head.”

He pauses, hand on the door, to glance over his shoulder at Jesse again. “I’d suggest you find something, too.”

 _You are my something_ hangs caught in Jesse’s throat, his mind stalling out as he tries to reword the sentiment into something less raw and exposing; and by the time he’s finally come up with something to say, Gabriel is gone.

-x-

The next time he finds himself alone with Gabriel, it’s on an undercover mission in Cuba.

The premise is simple--they’re a couple in the darker side of the BDSM scene, looking to buy a certain kind of slave from one of the better-known human traffickers in Havana. They show up to the club in a ‘57 Bel Air taxi, and as gorgeous as the car is with its bright, polished chrome and candy-pink paint, Jesse finds himself less infatuated with it and more enraptured with his ‘date’ for the night.

Gabriel looks the part of Master in his dark suit and polished dress shoes, his undercut sharp and the curls on top slicked back neatly; his silver cufflinks gleam in the overhead light as he leads Jesse inside, the gathered crowd parting for them like they, too, are just as impressed by the aura Gabriel gives off. There’s no chain connecting them, no leash around his neck--with only a simple black collar fitted snug around Jesse’s neck, they’re one of the tamer couples here tonight--but with Jesse’s devotion, there doesn’t even need to be. He stays right on Gabriel’s heels as they walk through the spacious atrium and down the hallway toward the main ballroom, where the auction will soon be held.

The doors are closed for now, with a small crowd gathered outside; one look at the grandfather clock tells Gabriel they have about half an hour until the auction begins. He lays a hand on Jesse’s neck and pulls him close.

“I’m going to go scope out the rest of the building,” he murmurs, masking his whispering by tucking a stray lock of hair behind Jesse’s ear. If he notices the way Jesse shivers at the touch, he makes no comment on it. “Stay here until I come back. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

He pulls away to slip into the mob of gathered people, and it’s not until he’s disappeared from view among the bare skin and leather that Jesse finds himself able to breathe again.

He’d had mixed feelings about this mission from the beginning--was eager at the thought of running one-on-one with Gabriel again, of them having some time alone, but dampening the excitement was his own doubt in his ability to keep his mouth shut. Stuck in the role of submissive with Gabriel as his master, in a room that already smelled like sex; he can’t help but worry about just what this will do the already tumultuous relationship between them, to Jesse’s own worn-thin scraps of self control.

He also remembers back to his outburst on the plane back from Switzerland, to Gabriel’s less than accepting reaction, and wonders exactly why he was chosen to tag along on this particular mission. Was it just because they were closer than any other agents in Blackwatch, and Gabriel needed someone he trusted unconditionally along for this kind of trip? Or--

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s a cute little thing like you doing out here all alone?”

Jesse’s pulled out of his thoughts by the low, purring voice, and snaps back to the present to find himself staring up into the face of a well-dressed, portly man with combed-back grey hair and a cleanly-manicured white beard. A smile brings up dimples in the man’s ruddy cheeks, but there’s something more malicious in his bright blue eyes that has Jesse immediately unsettled; he shifts uncomfortably, suddenly missing the familiar weight of Peacekeeper at his hip with a keenness so sharp it hurts. 

“...excuse me?”

“I was simply wondering why a pretty little piece like you is at an event like this, and yet...so very alone,” the man murmurs, leaning in on one elbow to bracket Jesse in against the wall, his fingertips petting feather-light across Jesse’s smooth-shaven cheek. “Did you escape from the back room, you naughty boy? Are you one of the pretties being sold tonight?”

“N-no,” Jesse stammers, trying to discreetly slide away from the man while looking past him to scan the crowd for Gabriel, for the dark suit and bright eyes that mean safety and control. “My dom is here, he just...went to the bathroom for a moment, is all...”

“What, without you?” The man chuckles, skating his fingers down, over the hard line of Jesse’s jaw and through the deep valley of his throat, feeling how he swallows beneath his touch. He plucks along the leather collar lightly, toying with the silver D-ring at the front. “How irresponsible of him. Rest assured, little thing, if I was your master--”

“But you’re not, so get your hands off my boy,” Gabriel growls, suddenly looming behind the man, who whips around as if he’s been burned; at the sight of Gabriel’s glowering eyes and downturned lips, he shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face as he takes a step back toward the rest of the crowd.

“My mistake,” he offers, though the smirk to his lips does little to convince Gabriel of his sincerity. “But you just can’t go leaving something that delectable sitting around unattended--”

“He is wearing my collar.” Gabriel takes Jesse’s hand and pulls him close, brushing a kiss across his cheek--and Jesse knows it’s for show, knows there’s nothing of real meaning behind it, yet that does nothing to stop the way his heart hammers in his chest at the contact. Gabriel’s arm wraps around his waist, pulling him in snugly to fit against his side, and as he lays his head on Gabriel’s chest Jesse’s surprised to hear the thundering beat of his own pulse. “I was under the impression that everyone here was well-behaved, but I didn’t realize they let pigs in the door.”

The two men lock gazes for a moment, and Jesse squeezes Gabriel’s hand tighter, anxiety making his fingers tremble; but then the call of the ballroom opening is made, and the tension breaks sharply as the man storms past them, his head held high and blotches of angry color rising to his cheeks. Keeping Jesse’s hand held tight in his own, Gabriel turns on his heel to follow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, head ducked close enough for Jesse to feel the wash of his breath over his ear, soothing the feeling of wrongness over his skin where the strange man had touched him before. “I was gone longer than I thought I would be. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jesse whispers, staring down at his feet as he files in, trying to pay little mind to how warm he feels or how snug the seating is--leaving him sitting close enough to Gabriel for their thighs to press against each other, for Jesse to feel the warmth of Gabriel’s skin even through his slacks. 

_I’m fine, now that you’re here._


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the evening passes in relative peace. Jesse doesn’t mention anything else about what happened in the hallway, and he takes Gabriel’s silence to mean that he’s put it behind him, too.

They work in a dangerous field, and sometimes horrible things happen. Jesse would be a poor agent if he wasn’t able to handle such occurrences--and a liar, if he’d said he’d never experienced them before. But something must show on his face that tells of his unease, because no sooner have they made it back to the hotel room then Gabriel is sitting him down on the queen bed and dropping down to his knees, looking up at Jesse with that intent stare that means his mind is working.

Jesse hates being pinned beneath it. It makes him feel like Gabriel is picking him apart, piece by piece, and he’s helpless to stop it.

“Are you alright, Jesse?” Gabriel finally asks, but there’s something different in it, now; something less urgent, now that they’re back in their room, now that they’re safe. “What happened back there--”

“It’s fine,” Jesse answers, shaking his head at Gabriel’s frown. “I’ve had worse. Ain’t like I’m not used to bad shit happening to me, you know.”

Gabriel studies him for a moment, then stands up with a thoughtful noise. “Bad shit...like what? Injected with a deadly cocktail and thrown up against robots bad shit, or broke a nail picking daisies bad shit?”

Jesse scowls. “You know I was a foster kid--”

“Yes, but there’s more to that story that I don’t know, that I would like to.” Gabriel drops down beside him on the bed--instead of crouching below or looming above; on level ground, now--and this time his gaze is less calculating. Less figuring out a puzzle, and more honest concern. “Tell me about your family, Jesse.”

Jesse scoffs, looking away from the trap of those warm, dark eyes. He thumbs at his nose dismissively, his shoulders bunching up a little. “Ain’t much to tell. Most of ‘em were horrible. Either kept me around to get the government money or just wanted a servant, and some were worse than that.”

“Most of them,” Gabriel repeats, gently prying--and he doesn’t miss how Jesse’s jaw sets, how the hands currently resting on his thighs curl into loose fists. “What about the ones that weren’t? What were they like?”

“There was only one,” Jesse says after a moment, his voice a quiet thing, like just speaking of the past will be enough to summon his demons back to the present. His eyes stare vacantly at the floor. “He was...he was a good guy. Only decent one I had, I think. Wasn’t no saint, but…” He trails off and shrugs weakly, one finger breaking free of a fist to tap at his thigh as he searches for the right words. “He...he seemed to care, at least. Told me he loved me, took me places. Bought me stuff. Did things most of the others wouldn’t bother to.”

“Like what?”

Jesse shrugs again--one half-hearted raise of the shoulder--and hesitates before answering. “Like...we’d go out and do stuff. Father-son stuff, I guess. He’d take me damn near wherever I wanted to go, whenever I wanted to be there...the park, the arcade, the movies.” He pauses, then adds very quietly, “He was the closest thing I had to a decent parent, I think. The closest I came to a friend, back then.”

Gabriel nods and shifts just a little bit closer, so his thigh brushes up against Jesse’s--not forcing any contact with him, but offering him the physical support, if he wants it. Letting him know he’s there.

And god, does Jesse want it. 

“What happened to him?”

Jesse pauses again; and watching the emotion change in his eyes, the nostalgia become something darker, more hurt, immediately puts Gabriel on edge. He watches as Jesse’s semi-lax hands suddenly clench tight, knuckles blooming white as his voice gets strained.

“What happened to him,” Jesse starts, venom starting to bleed into his voice, “is that he took me to the donut shop we always hit up on Sunday, because they made my favourite sprinkle-covered kind, and he went to take a piss. Said he’d be right back.” He snorts, shaking his head as it droops down between his shoulders. “I should’ve known, right then. Should’ve known that something was up, that it was too good to be true. But I was young and dumb and, goddamn, I just wanted someone to be happy around me.

I stayed in that damn shop for what felt like the whole fuckin’ day--had to have been at least a few hours. Kept getting weird looks from the shopkeep, lookin’ between me and the clock like he thought he was sneaky or something. But what could I tell him? What could I do? I was just some scrawny kid, waiting on my dad to take the world’s biggest, stickiest shit.” 

Jesse pauses in his recounting to lean back a little, blinking hard to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay; and he curses under his breath for still being so bothered by this story. He thought himself over it years ago, calloused by Deadlock and missions gone wrong and murder. Go figure that Gabriel could pin him down and make him spill his guts, all just by careful asking.

“Anyway…” Jesse stops, clears his throat, starts again. “I went lookin’ for him, eventually. Went back to the bathroom to see what was up, see if he was okay.” He halts again, and the sudden rush of images--his father’s limp arm laid across grimy bathroom tile, the vacant, glassy look to his eyes, the twin trails of pink fluid dried under his nose--is almost enough to make him sick. He chokes back the bile to spit out, “I found him on the floor, dead. Still had his damn crack pipe in his hand. He’d gone in there to get high, and it’d killed him.”

Jesse finds the words somewhat easier to say, now that they’ve been slightly numbed by his years--he can remember being in the moment, though, screaming and crying and hysterical. He’d run from the shop without another word, fueled by emotions that didn’t have a name yet: terror, betrayal, heartbreak.

“I should’ve kept running, then. Shouldn’t have let them put me with the next bastards,” Jesse muses, his voice soft in the aching silence. The sudden brush of Gabriel’s hand on his thigh is enough to make him flinch, but when he looks over he sees nothing but concern and sympathy on his Commander’s face. Jesse can’t bear looking at it, and turns his head away again. “That guy...he told me all the time how much he loved me, and I...I believe he did, if I’m bein’ honest. But…”

He trails off to rub his eyes with the back of his hand and lets his shoulders slump, finishing with a weak, “But sometimes...maybe love isn’t enough to overcome all the shit you’ve got in your head. Maybe...maybe it counts for fuckin’...nothing at all.”

“I think it counts,” Gabriel says, his voice barely more than a whisper; something slow, pensive. An offer of comfort. “Back in the Crisis, in the SEP...if I didn’t have love, I don’t know that I’d have gotten through any of that. It was my love for the people around me, and their love for me, that kept me going when I was at my worst.”

“That’s different,” Jesse starts, but Gabriel shushes him to keep going.

“Hell, even now--I love Blackwatch, and I love everyone in it. My choices kept me from having a traditional life with a traditional family, so that’s what all of you are to me.” He moves his arm to lay over Jesse’s shoulder and pulls him in against his chest, hugging him tight before pressing a kiss to his messy mop of hair. “Especially you, Jessito. I love you.”

 _I love you._ Jesse can’t believe he’s hearing the words leave Gabriel’s lips; and yet, try as he might, he can’t get them past the thorny patch in his own throat, can’t reciprocate. He bows his head and hides his face against the strong muscle in Gabriel’s chest so that his Commander doesn’t have to see the tears finally break free.

“I know you do,” Jesse whispers, his voice a quiet, hushed thing, choked by the emotion currently robbing him of breath. _I love you too._

“I know you do, Gabe.”

_I love you too._


	8. Chapter 8

Quietly, Jesse thinks on the conversation the entire flight back to base. He thinks on it while he strips off his filthy clothes and thinks on it while he stands under the lukewarm shower and scrubs his skin raw, thinks on it when he falls into his bed and stares up at the ceiling.

Gabriel loves him--he’d said so himself, and if there’s one thing in this shithole of a world that Jesse can put his faith in, it’s the word of Gabriel Reyes. He finds himself staying up for hours and turning the conversation over in his head, recalling everything from the lilt of Gabriel’s voice to the heavy warmth of his arm on Jesse’s shoulder, holding him close.

Because he loves him.

When morning comes, it finds Jesse exhausted; the insistent beep of his alarm seems louder than normal as Jesse forces himself out of bed, as he drags on his standard-issue sweatpants and hoodie and brushes his teeth. He doesn’t know what exactly Gabriel has in store for him today, but he does know that whatever it is will require a good breakfast to make up for his restless night.

In the kitchen, Traes and Darren are already up--Traes stands over the stove cooking sausage links and Darrien sits at the counter, sipping black coffee as she reads over her next mission file. As Jesse walks in, Traes glances over; and they quirk one eyebrow at his appearance, their voice mildly concerned as they ask, “Rough night, ad’ika?”

Jesse doesn’t bother getting worked up over the nickname anymore; he’s all but become every agent’s baby brother. Instead, he sinks down into a chair across from Darrien and grabs for one of the pieces of toast sitting on a plate in front of the older agent’s mission files. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Darrien shoots him a half-hearted glare at the thievery, but drops her gaze back to her file with a huff. Her biotic fingers tap rhythmically along the table, and Jesse finds himself staring at them, admiring the craftsmanship in the beautiful but deadly machinery. 

“Don’t let the boss hear you say that,” Darrien mutters, thumbing through her file until she finds what she wants--a picture of a man with a blood-red mohawk and giant mechanical arms, something that looks like a barcode tattooed under his cybernetic eye. He looks mean, like the kind of man that hurts people, and has Jesse tearing into his toast with a spark of anger. “Rumour has it that he’s taking you to the Swiss base today.”

Jesse chokes on his bite and has to cough it up--he’s never been to the Swiss base, but he’s heard enough tell to know that it’s only for the important people: the heart of Overwatch itself. He looks up to Darrien with wide, watery eyes. “What?”

Darrien shrugs a shoulder, not looking up from the photos of her mark. “Just what I heard, kid. Ask Reyes himself if you want more answers.”

“Ask me what?”

Jesse’s gaze snaps over and he finds himself staring at Gabriel--with his arms crossed over his zipped-up hoodie and his BDUs hanging low on his hips, his coffee cup in hand. He glances at Jesse as he crosses the room toward the coffee pot, and starts to talk as he pours himself another cup. 

“I’m glad you’re already up, Jesse. We need to be leaving soon; it’s not exactly a short ride.” He turns around and leans against the counter to take a drink, and when he looks up from his cup to find Jesse staring at him, he frowns. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get going, kid, we have a plane to catch.”

“O-oh--yes sir!” 

Jesse scrambles up from the table and all but runs from the room, leaving his toast--and dreams of a hearty breakfast--behind. Gabriel lingers for a moment, then grabs one of the sausages from the pan and flashes a smile at Traes’s disapproving frown. “What?”

“You should be nicer to him,” Traes says, crossing their arms. “He looks up to you so much.”

“He’s also a special agent in a black-ops division,” Darrien chimes in, resting her chin in her palm. “Not a character in a dating sim. If anything, boss is too soft on him.”

“While I do appreciate this insightful commentary on my leadership style,” Gabriel says around a mouthful of sausage, “I interact with my agents in the way I best see fit for each of their personalities. If you knew Jesse like I did, you would understand.”

“Isn’t that the problem?” Darrien mutters, and Gabriel snaps his gaze over to her with a sharp retort of, “Agent Darrien, if I want your opinion on how I lead I will ask for it. Otherwise, rest assured knowing that my relationship with Agent McCree is no different than with any of you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Darrien holds Gabriel’s gaze for a moment, like she’s debating on speaking again--but then she seems to think better of it, and looks back down to her file, yielding to the standoff. Gabriel grabs another link of sausage and heads back out to the hall.

And as he walks he tries to keep the anxiety in check; in their time together, McCree hadn’t been exactly subtle about just how he felt about his commander. But Gabriel didn’t think that McCree’s puppy crush was noticed or known by anyone else, and now that he knows it is, he can’t help the trepidation that sets him on edge. McCree is a good man, Gabriel knows--hell, if the circumstances were a bit different, Gabriel wouldn’t mind taking him for a spin--but if word of his affections got to the people over Gabriel’s head, he knows it would be more than just his own ass on the line.

He can’t let that happen to McCree--can’t let the kid ruin the best chance he has at a good life.

And so he heads for the hangar and tells himself that today, tonight, sometime, will be when he sets the kid down and sets him straight, and fixes this before it gets too messy for either one of them to handle.


End file.
